Sir Geoffrey cast an uneasy stare out the window. “The entire village fears another outbreak of the sweating sickness. ’Tis said to be sweeping across England once again. Now that we have found not one, but possibly two gypsy fortunetellers, we must leave. And soon.” James stroked the stubble on his chin and stretched his legs toward the fire. The knight would never cease reminding him of his obligations until he settled the matter. Despite the number of years since the last outbreak, fear of the sickness persisted, frightening and formidable, creating widespread panic at the mere mention of its name.

The muscles in his back tightened again. He fought down his restlessness and rocked his son instead.

“I am well aware of my responsibilities to my servants.” A cold edge of bitterness threaded his words. “May I remind you, Sir Geoffrey, my late wife . . . died months ago and many miles away. The sickness has not affected anyone here in the east. We are much removed from this latest outbreak.”